Forgotten King
by OneWhoDreamz
Summary: A great king's heart is overcome by darkness. In order to re-instate light, a decision is made that erases the king from memory. But is he truly forgotten? Slight AU (Alternate Universe).
1. Banishment

AN: This **_first chapter_** "Banishment" is **rated K+** and **can** _Stand Alone._

* * *

 _Prologue:  
_ **Banishment**

* * *

Once, there was a powerful king. Though he reigned over plenty, he was unsatisfied with his fortune. For within the entirety of his vast kingdom, there was not one person who did not fear him. Eventually, a single thought entered his head: Why should I cause myself pain when their shoulders tremble or their voices quiver? If they choose to shake without just cause, why not give them something to fear? And such were his thoughts, until finally the darkness that had been left to fester overwhelmed him, and his heart became jagged.

The news of the king's growing loneliness came too late to the palace of his younger brother, Tsar Lunar (aka Manny). Desperate to rectify his older brother's wrongs, Manny assembled a group of four brave warriors. Together they fought against the self-proclaimed Nightmare King, and in doing so brought about a golden era.

No longer did the people lock their doors against the darkness of night, nor did they huddle around campfires for fear of passing shadows. Shoulders shook—not out of fear—but from laughter and young voices quivered with joy. The Dark Ages had finally ended. Once dull eyes shown with light as parents looked towards the future with hope, and the people were able to sleep soundly, again. Thus, the Guardians were formed, and the once feared king became forgotten—written off as a bad dream.

Only, he wasn't completely forgotten. For his younger brother still remembered him, and wished for his happiness; however, the former-king refused to admit he did anything wrong. Instead, he longed for the days when he reigned in terror. At least _then_ he was _acknowledged_ by everyone, and _not_ just young ones who (regrettably) dubbed him "The B _oogeyman_."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Because of his brother's stubbornness, Manny was forced to watch his brother from a distance. Until he learns how to care for another once again _—_ not just for the fear his presence ignites _—_ I _cannot_ allow him to regain his power. And so, with a heavy heart, but good intentions, Manny resigned himself to only interfere in the direst of circumstances. Perhaps one day, Pitch, your heart will heal, and you will become whole again.

Until then...

 _Please, forgive me._

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.


	2. Solace and Refusal

_AN: With the addition of this chapter, I have changed the rating to Teen. (Because I want to be cautious).  
_

 _WARNING: This Story will contain suggestions of: broken families, betrayal (and possible healing processes), and possible minor suggestions of psychological damage.  
I **will let you know before hand IF suggestions become more detailed**. With that said: Here is the next chapter.  
_

* * *

 **Shattered Solace  
** _Refusal_

* * *

Pitch wavered on the outskirts of the tiny village, his lithe form hidden by shadow. Only when the darkening clouds covered the waning moon did he move—though he remained wary. Few noticed the domineering figure as he maneuvered around the fires towards the edge of the crowd. (Those who did notice didn't mention.) He had no need to redirect course. For, even _now,_ people gave him a wide berth. But he tired of the same routine. Besides, blending in was _much_ more _fun._

At last, he reached his intended destination. It was a small cottage on the edge of town—just separate enough for the fire's light not to reach. There, beneath the protective shade, Pitch allowed himself a slight reprieve. If the villagers huddled together against the _cold ,_ well, his mind forgot to note that _particular_ detail. How long had it been? Two centuries? ...Five? He breathed in the cool, damp night air—eyes closed. Time mattered not. In that single moment, he could almost imagine having been seen within the crowd.

That moment shattered.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Time stood still for the lone Tsar. Seven centuries. Seven _agonizing_ centuries, Manny had been unable to reach out to his beloved brother. But _now,_ right in front of him, Pitch stood. Eyes closed _peacefully_ in the _moonlight_. It was just like old times. Before either brother reigned. Before that fateful night…

Pitch hid within the shadows—his slim form barely recognizable—only for him to jump out a moment later, spooking his younger brother. Manny would pretend to be mad, swatting at Pitch: "Stop doing that!" he would shriek. Pitch only laughed…Manny soon followed suit.

The memory faded, but Pitch remained _right there._ Trembling, Manny reached out his hand to embrace his older brother. The moment shattered. Cold, calculating eyes flashing within an instant.

This was wrong. This was _all_ wrong! _Thos e_ steely eyes _did not belong_ to _his_ caring, mischievous _brother._...They couldn't. _I_ _refuse!_  
Where is my brother? Give him back to me. **Give Him BACK**!

Reality slammed itself into Manny's stomach, causing him to freeze. _His brother_ 's steely eyes promising vengeance. A malicious grin pulled at Pitch's thin lips—shaping them in a way they _never should have gone. ..._ This is _not_ my brother. **_IT_** is _the_ _Nightmare King._ Manny recoiled at the realization—pulling his tightly wound hands closer to his chest. Darkness splayed out in every direction, as It retreated from view.

... ~ ... ~ ...

Manny could only stare at the place the wraith once stood. After seven centuries, not one day had passed. His beloved brother was _still_ beyond Manny's grasp.

 _Why?! Why_ had it _turned out this way_? _Why_ did they **_have to_ **_**Avoid EACH OTHER**!_

Manny knew: he had chosen Ruler over Brother.

.  
And with that...

 _Forgiveness would not come so readily._

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.


	3. Breath and Intrigue

**This chapter takes large-amount of inspiration from HowlingMysteries' "It started with a story" Series on AO3.  
I highly recommend reading her series. **(And if 'HowlingMysteries' ever reads this: Thank you for letting me take liberties with your ideas. *grateful smile* )

AN: This is later than I said, but hey! I made it e _xtra, **Extra**_ **long** (two of my chapter's worth)...so, do you accept my apology?

The chapter is open-ended, but I don't _think_ it is _any worse_ than the _previous_ chapters...

* * *

 _Calming Breath **  
**_ ** _Intrigue_**

* * *

Fourteen earth-rotations had passed since the brother's unexpected reunion. During this time, Pitch remained hidden within the shadows cast by day—unwilling to have a repeat of _that_ incident. But tonight, he could finally step out into his beloved night. There would be no tormentor to shatter his tranquility with false-caring. For tonight, his _brother's_ back was once again towards him.

Pitch snarled—forcibly redirecting that train of thought. It would do no good to dwell on past folly. _Learning_ from mistakes on the other hand… The Nightmare King took hold of the surrounding darkness willing it to expand and deepen. If a five-year-old child imagined thin, wisp-like hands reaching towards her from the shadows…well, who's to say it was because of him?

… ~ … ~ …

Fear's embodiment rampaged across North America spreading terror to repress unwanted thoughts. It was as things should be…fear and darkness reigned. However, anger could not last forever, and it soon burrowed beneath the darkness once again. A sense of calm washed over the former king—loosening his hold from reality. If only for a moment, he could lose himself to the nothingness.

A shadow's embrace pulled Pitch back from oblivion; within a moment Pitch was transported to the edge of a small village. Unimpressed eyes scanned the surroundings quickly. It was a quaint village—wooden cabins surrounded several fire-pits (the fires, now, glowing embers). Briefly, Pitch wondered why the shadow brought him here.

What is so significant about this village? Surely, my presence is unnecessary—having already spread generous helpings of fear. What am I missing? It was then that his eyes fell upon a familiar cabin just off-set of all the others. Pitch did not need fire to know that its light would not reach.

Rage quickly boiled beneath the surface. Memories of silver light, unbidden. Forcefully, Pitch squashed the repulsive memories, tore his eyes away from the offending sight and rounded on the shadow. _Why_ did _you_ bring _Me **Here!**_ His eyes accused.

Pitch's muscles strained against each other, tensing and un-tensing. Something within the darkness called for destruction. A deep-seeded unease began to permeate the air.

 _NO!_

 _Reign it in!_

Pitch's eyes closed momentarily as he steadied his breath. It would do no good to lose his composure. Besides, the shadows had never steered him wrong before. Resigned, Pitch released one last calming-breath. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked.

As if in answer, a sudden spike of fear came from the curs _ed_ * cabin. Though fear wasn't uncommon, wherever Pitch was concerned, this one jolt intrigued him. While others tried to trample their fear, this youth _embraced_ Fear. However, instead of cowering beneath blankets (as expected) the boy—no older than 10-years-of-age (if Pitch were to guess)— ** _removed_** his protective covers. If this had any effect on the wraith, few could see it.

When the boy hesitated—his foot hovering just above the bed's threshold—Pitch couldn't restrain a smirk. It appeared, even with the child's…unusual actions, he was not immune to the monsters that lay-in-wait.

Before Pitch could do anything with this newly acquired information, his attention was drawn to a familiar, golden light. Pitch chided himself. Perhaps causing mass hysteria was not the _best_ way to _avoid detection_. Ruefully, the Nightmare King took one last glance at the child before fading into the surrounding darkness.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

The stars shone softly as Sandy's dream-sand lulled the final child to sleep. There had been an unusual amount of restlessness amongst the children, but not enough to be concerned about. It was bound to happen after the calmness of these past few weeks, and—regardless of what the _other Guardians_ _believed_ —fear was still necessary.

Sandy released a silent sigh as he felt the familiar pin-prickle of a child waking from rest. Taking flight, he headed in the direction of the restless child.

 _...It's gonna be a long night,_ he thought.

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.

.

* Curs-ED (two syllables) used to express irritation, annoyance [and in this case: disdain/hate]. _The cabin is not haunted nor under an evil spell_. (Just in case anyone was confused).


	4. Contemplating Silence

Happy New Year: 2017!

This chapter is dedicated to Juki, whose enthusiastic questioning allowed me to (Finally!) write _three_ ideas I have tried since finishing the second chapter (Solace and Refusal). Thank you!

* * *

 **Silent Surveillance** ** _  
_** _Contemplation_

* * *

Sandy soared swiftly towards the waking child. His intended destination: the small settlement of Burgess, Pennsylvania (where one _particular_ boy seemed to have a rather strong aversion to sleep). Had it been several weeks prior, Sandy may have simply sent a stream of dream-sand to the _supposed_ -to-be- _sleeping_ child. (It was more efficient that way…) However—no matter how many variations of dream-sand Sandy tried: hide-and-go-seek, tree climbing, snowball fights, and even _flight_ _!—_ the boy would wake before his time.

Eventually, Sandy begun delivering the specially crafted dream _personally._ (So he could better tailor to the child, of course.)

Sandy enjoyed the challenge of preparing a dream that would last the night. (And even made a game of it.) As he flew, Sandy thought of ways to prolong the boy's rest. (Soft, white powder and rosy cheeks. Fingers numb, but not uncomfortably-so, and joyous laughter? Or, perhaps, the boy would rather fly high within the clouds; his strong wings beating faithfully as cool winds wrapped around him in a gentle embrace. No longer tethered to the ground. Free to go where-ever he pleased? …Perhaps both?)

Just as Sandy begun to formulate the possibilities, he was interrupted by a sense of foreboding. Immediately, instincts from centuries ago took effect. Dim the light, move steadily and assuredly—stance sturdy but flexible—and, most importantly, stay aware of the surroundings.

Sandy hastened to the small clearing, pulse quickening as suspicions formed. However, just as suddenly as the unease began it vanished. Silently, Sandy crept forward—taking precautions to remain unseen by a possible enemy.

Upon sight of the small settlement, Sandy paused. There, in the midst of the town's square (framed by dying embers' light) was none other than Pitch Black—Nightmare _King!_

Sandy stiffened, stealthily sliding against a two-person cabin to hide from view.

.

A beat passed.

.

Then another.

.

…and another?

.

Something about this situation didn't sit right. Upon further assessment, Sandy realized: it was calm. No shadows shifted mockingly, daring him to flee. Nor was there any other indication that this may be a trap. It was _absolutely calm._

Cautiously, Sandy peered around his hiding place. It seemed Pitch had not noticed the sandman's intrusion. At this, Sandy couldn't help but wonder: What could possibly cause the oh-so-observant Nightmare _King_ to forget his surroundings? Steeling himself in case of an attack, Sandy slowly stepped out of his hiding place to gain a vantage point.

... ~ ... ~ ...

Darkness had deepened before wrapping around the Nightmare King. A single glance towards the window of a small cottage was all Sandy noticed before the wraith disappeared completely.

Moments passed.

Golden eyes scanned the shadows warily as Sandy slowly circled—prepared for any sudden attack. Eventually, it became apparent that he was alone. Slowly, Sandy lowered his stance—keeping an ever-watchful eyes on the shadows. The attack never came.

With the Nightmare King no longer of _immediate_ concern, Sandy hurried to his initial destination (where the child had already begun to drift into a dreamless sleep). Sandy studied the subdued shadows around the boy's room, expertly assessing the surroundings. A pair of cow-hide shoes rested haphazardly by an old wardrobe in the corner (having been thrown by a reluctant wearer), and the embers within the hearth glowed radiantly. However, there was no indication that the boy's restlessness was Fear induced. Sandy glance towards the sleeping child—a fond smile gracing his lips.

Suddenly, he was reminded of the... _almost_ **_caring_** expression the Nightmare King sent towards the boy's residence before disappearing into the darkness.

.

With one last glance at the child, Sandy hastened to the Lunar Palace—thoughts filled by a subtle smile, a sleeping child, and a subdued shadow _._

 _Dawn approached._

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.

.

~ . ~ . ~

 **Reponse to Reviews:**

~ . ~ . ~

 **Guest (on Chapter 2):** Thank you for your compliment on my writing style. I really like retelling of faerie-tales...so I guess its influenced by that. I'll tell you a secret, though, my non-story-telling writing is usually a mess. (As for the RPG, thank you for that, as well. I was going for something like that -so the reader could "experience" part of the enchanted library labyrinth for themselves. :)] You are very kind.

 **JackFrostnDean: [** on Chapter 2 **]** XD As lively as ever, I see. Thank you so much for your encouragement (on writing Pitch...I was a little worried.) I'm glad I got the emotions across. Thanks for correcting "enjoying the agony..." that surprised me a bit [I didn't remember "agony." Raw emotions on the other hand... :)] **[** on Chapter 3 **]** Sorry for not revealing the boy's identity, just yet...it isn't quite time. Soon, I promise. (I can't keep calling the poor child "boy" forever, can I?) Your reviews kept me writing this chapter-as you "radiate" the emotions I want to give my lovely readers. :) ...Though I do hope you have gotten sleep since my last update.

 **To anyone else** **:** Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy this story. :)


	5. Night's Solitude

_"The darkest hour is just before the_ dawn." ~Old Proverb

* * *

 _Polar Nights  
_ **Solitude**

* * *

Even long after the golden tendrils departed (replaced by dawn's first light), Pitch made no move to separate from the darkness—his thoughts consumed by past events. Only when the golden rays pierced the darkness was his trance broken.

By this time, the sun had risen high into the sky—illuminating that of a lone cabin (just off-set of all the others). The village's inhabitants bustled to and fro—preforming their daily works. Among them: a young boy with brown hair. Upon this sight, an undisputed rage filled the Nightmare King.

 **… If **_**only**_ **I c** _ **o**_ **ul** _ **d h**_ **a** _ **v**_ **e** _ **played**_ **w** **i** _ **t**_ **h t** _ **h**_ **e** _ **boy**_ **.** Only for a bit...

It wasn't meant to be.

 **[A _golden nuisance_ made sure of **_**that!]**_

The _moment_ has _passed_.

 _ **.**_

Pitch turned his eyes away from the village—from the peculiar, young boy who lived in the lone cabin. Without hesitation, the former-king departed—having demanded the darkness whisk him away to a better place. One without distraction.

.

The darkness brought Pitch to a desolate location deep in the icy caverns of Antarctica. It wasn't the grandest of places. (Certainly, not befitting a _King!_ ) But, it held no distractions... **[** Guardians _and otherwise **]**_. And it was here, where the Nightmare King resided.

However, it wasn't long before the solitude (originally deemed a haven) became disturbed.

... ~ ... ~ ...

'How long do you plan to sulk?' a shadow asked.

.

Pitch strode through the icy corridors adamant to ignore the impudent shadow. For some unfathomable reason, it had developed a strange desire to impede his thoughts. For the past months, Pitch's musings where interrupted by the shadow (much like now). And, for the past months, the shadow showed no inclination of stopping. (No matter how many times its pleas went ignored.)

'Come on! You never let me escort anywhere...' The shadow pouted. Though this 'argument' had been used multiple times (and brushed-off just as many), its continuous use had become irksome. Pitch paused in his stride—determining the best way to dissuade the shadow. If _ignoring_ its outcries where of little affect... Perhaps a change in tactic?

"With good reason!" Pitch retorted ('too dignified' to snap). Not only had he been 'escorted' by this shadow without consent (on several occasions), but— _twice!_ —these excursions ended with prying eyes. No. Being taken anywhere with this shadow was out of the question.

'Are you still mad about that...' faked-innocence, once again, interrupted his thoughts. 'I apologized already a thousand and eight times! Do I need to make it a thousand and nine?.' A pause. 'Come on... It's boring here...'

 ** _'_** _'_ _You_ are _not forced_ to **_stay_.** ' **'**

It was after these words were uttered—(when the expected complaint did not come)—that tense silence followed. Though the conversation had ended, the shadow's presence could still be felt within Pitch's mind, and he resigned himself to the shadow's company. Once more, the former-king began to roam the halls. Only this time, the shadow did not follow.

A moment's hesitation, then (upon an almost audible sigh) its presence was gone.

 _Pitch,_ once again, _left alone with the Dark_.

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.

.

~ . ~ . ~

 **Response to Reviews:**

~ . ~ . ~

 **JackFrostnDean:** It makes me so happy to know people are picking up on my subtleties. ( _Can you tell I like undertones?_ ) "GOLDEN SANDS OF SLEEPINESS" HA! 10 points to Juki for three months of laughter and counting XD. If you think the calm is frightening...hopefully this chapter wasn't too 'intense?' As for your questions: no spoilers, but I will make sure to incorporate the answers into the story as best as possible. As always, thank you for the kind words, motivation-push, and "food-for-thought." [Glad you got some sleep.]

 **To everyone:** I wanted to write one more part to this chapter, but it just wouldn't be written (in this chapter). Thank you for being patient with me. I hope you enjoyed. :)

 _Update Schedule?:_ Currently, I have no update schedule (save for the "one week after quote" rule). If you want to give input on when you would like to be updated, please vote in the poll on my profile. You may choose up to two choices.


	6. Interlude: Resolute

**.**

 **Interlude:  
** _Resolute_

* * *

And so it happened in the days that passed, that the shadow gave the Nightmare King his requested quiet.

Although leaving its king to the Dark and despair—in a lonesome void filled with endless silence—truly was a cruel way to call attention to what was needed, how else was it supposed to get its stubborn master to see reason! Talking had gone over _so well..._

The shadow sighed, perhaps, it could strategically leave gifts—a peace offering of sorts. A way to let its King know: He was not truly alone. The shadow still cared. It had not abandoned him, and it never will.

* * *

 _Constructive_ criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format is encouraged and welcome.

.

 _Author's Note:_

Forgive me for the shortness. I had tried three other expanded versions before now. None of them worked.

Thank you for reading.


	7. Light Unknown

AN: And so begins the second arc.

* * *

 **Will the Light Reach?  
** _Blissful Unknown_

* * *

There was dark. Shifting shadows twisted unnaturally against blinding light. Up upon a hill, two persons waited for him. Their calls reaching out, but never heard. Desperately, he tried to grasp their faded words, but the more he strained the less he understood. The two atop the hill began to turn—waiving their good-byes. "Wait for me!" his heart cried out, but the words were never uttered.

The light was dim. Ghostly silhouettes walked leisurely about. He recognized some, felt familiarity; however, this could not be. They were strangers, after all. Once in a while, he'd imagine faint laughter coming from the apparitions. Or whispered conversations. …Would it harm anything to take part?

Darkness encroached. It had done harm, he decided. When he had finally broken his silence and spoke, the startled eyes of the female silhouette proved it true. She had had such a beautiful laugh. (He remembered.) Boisterous. He had only inquired what could make her laugh as such. That had been a mistake. Immediately, the sound died from her lips. The quieted conversations ceased altogether, and, when no words came—

Something broke.

Jack lay motionless atop his bed—heart beating a deathly calm. Breathe in; breathe out, his mind instructed. In. And out. He repeated the steps a few more times—deliberately slowing his breathing (as best any eight-year-old could); the dull ache buried within his chest remained.

It confused him greatly. Wasn't there laughter in my dream? He could almost remember the full, joyous laughter—one from the belly. (Like Ol' Nate—the cattle rancher—when he had a few too many "not-for-yung'ns" around campfires. Jack liked his laugh.) But, if it was true: there _was_ laughter in his dream, why did he feel so alone?

Jack tried to remember the details of his dream. Honestly, he tried. But the harder he tried, the faster the details faded. Eventually, there was nothing left.

A shadow streaked across his vision, yanking his mind back to reality. A monster? Jack searched the dimly lit room—vision jumping from shadow, to corner, to wall, and back again. Is that a tail! He focused on a small corner of the room, just above his left shoe (the one he had kicked off as soon as he were able earlier that day), where a thin, wispy black streak emanated from the wardrobe.

 _Light!_ His mind helpfully supplied. Not everything is as scary as it seems with light. Jack threw off his covers—intending to cross the squeaky boards (where the shadows dominated) to the wood-pile by the door. There he'd take a log: nice, thick and dry. (Preferably, one Jack could swing [should the monster attack while his back was turned].) To the hearth, then stoke the fire.

Jack paused—foot not-quite-yet on the floor. If it _was_ a monster…would he have enough time to reach safety?

He should be fine. (Monsters fear fire, after all.)

Decision made, Jack placed his foot the rest of the way. The boards did not creak.

With fire stoked and wardrobe checked—the "monster's tail" having been a shoelace—Jack made his way back, safely, into bed. The silver eyes and sad smile he had seen outside his window a distance away: wholly imagined (and blissfully unaware of the concerned gaze of the one who came after).

If, by chance, the black knight of the chess-set, sitting atop the table located just to the right of the tall, oak wardrobe in the corner, had (mysteriously) gone missing. Well, that was for the boy to discover another day.

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.


	8. A Shadow's Subterfuge

WARNING: Slight cliff-hanger.

 _Edit: 12/26/2017_ (as my final edit before posting didn't save. Nothing major changed.)

* * *

 _A Shadow's Determination  
_ **Subterfuge**

* * *

It had started its observing routine strictly out of duty; the price of not doing so was too great a cost. Strictly duty, the shadow told itself, when it shaped itself to scare a small child who had wondered into the darkened woods. (The woods were not safe at night!) Strictly duty, it justified, when it came to check on the boy the next day. (The boy startled at its arrival.) Information gathering, it decided when one "check-up" wasn't enough. (Wide, brown eyes continuously glanced in its direction.) "Information gathering" it repeated as mild curiosity began to sprout.

Much time had passed since the shadow first took notice of the boy who had wondered into the woods that fateful night. How much time exactly, it did not know. Enough to notice the subtle changes that came with age. ("Jack!" the man had yelled as he ran to the frightened child that night. "JACKSON!" it had heard much more-usually just before the boy jumped down from a tree. "Jack." A knowing laugh from those aware of his antics.)

It was best to keep its distance, the shadow had been taught. Those who live in the realm of Light could not possibly know of the Dark. It had a duty to protect those who did not know. (It could not afford to lose another light.)

But hadn't the boy proven he'd already known?

(The slight pauses in the boy's movement whenever the shadow came to observe. The confused glances as the shadow deviated from natural positions. Its final test: passed. The boy's curious stare following its king through the sparse crowd—gaze focused as Pitch leaned against a two-person cottage. [The waning moon covered by dense clouds.])

It would be best, the shadow thought, to plan in secret.

.

Finally, the time came to arrange a meeting between Jackson "Jack" Overland and its stubborn-headed king. All its previous attempts had been thwarted: first by the moon-beam: a broken heart, then by the golden light: a conflicted "foe."

After that, the shadow had backed off for a time, allowing its king recovery from unpleasant memories. But no more. It had waited long enough. (Too long).

The pieces were in place. "No" was no longer an option. It was time to take action. (For some: way past.)

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.

.

 _Authour's Note:_

I have slowly (and unintentionally) collected songs that reminded me of this story (or where I plan to take it), and I have decided to try and make a song-track list to place at the end once the story is finished. _Do you have any song suggestions? Most _ genres are fine, though I _sometimes_ have trouble with "screaming" instruments/voices and rap

Credit will be given if you suggest I song I decide to use, unless I have already thought of it.

I hope you enjoy(ed). :)


	9. 1: A Truce

_WARNING:_ Probable cliff-hanger.

I've broken this chapter into two parts (the second is still a rough draft), because otherwise it would have been (est.) 4x as long as usual and several more months.

 _3/17/2018 Edit:_ Fixed spelling errors.

* * *

 _An Unspoken_ _Truce_

* * *

" _You_ are not _forced_ to _**stay!**_ "

The words had rung within the deadened air—effectively silencing the shadow, as had been intended, but it was too harsh. Too _raw._ The walls surrounding Pitch grew—towering over him, threatening to collapse. He braced himself for when they did. No ice fell.

Pitch dare not look behind. He knew: the shadow remained, studying him. Silent in its attempt to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words.

Bitter winds gripped him, its frigid touch tearing at his skin: burning, _burning!_ …then,

Numb.

.

.

Had it always been this quiet?

... ~ ... ~ ...

A couple days later, after Pitched had calmed, the shadow returned. It hovered on the edge of Pitch's consciousness—waiting patiently. No words were exchanged between the two as Pitch continued with his task. This moonless night would not last forever (however much he wished it true). It was best to prepare a room in advance.

.

An unspoken truce formed between the two. Pitch would continue construction while the shadow watched silently. It never stayed for long (unwilling to break the fragile trust), but it was enough.

As time passed, a routine developed. By the time construction on the hidden room was completed, the routine had become ingrained.

The room's intended purpose had grown into a treasure-trove, library of sorts. A place to store and display all the gifts the shadow had brought. While there were certainly enough books and poems to be considered a library (though most of the literature were loose-leaf), other trinkets such as figurines, writing utensils and stationary, and fine-crafted weapons were on display, too (although the latter was rare).

Although dim, what little filtered light that managed to enter reflected off the ice's surface, creating an unearthly glow that provided enough illumination to move (without risk to stubbing toes) and to read without much eye-strain. (But Pitch had long grown use to that slight irritation in a time best left forgotten.)

Pitch found the book he wanted next to the black knight the shadow had taken (to give to him) from a chess-set. The piece had no extravagant details. It wasn't something fancy, just a wooden carving of a horse's head painted black, but Pitch could guess why the shadow chose it as a gift…. (Still, he had always enjoyed strategy games and horses.)

Before he could get lost in his thoughts, Pitch grabbed the book, sat himself comfortable in the icy chair (having become impervious to the cold) and began to read.

The shadow appeared just as Pitch turned the page. No acknowledgement was given save for the barest straightening of Pitch's posture. (There was an audience, even if only one shadow. He had to be presentable.) The shadow remained, and Pitch continued to read.

Ever-so-often a faint _chink_ could be heard of ice hitting ice. The shadow had to entertain itself somehow. It didn't handle being quiet well. (Pitch was impressed it had lasted as long as it had.) He didn't think much of the shadow's departure, assuming it had left to go and exist elsewhere. That was, until snow dropped onto his lap.

He could feel the shadow's attempt to suppress its amusement. As he brushed the snow away, the shadow's presence began to fade again, slowly, as if saying: if you insist…

Withholding a sigh, Pitch placed his book down. (Really, just when he had mentally praised the shadow.) "Do you want something?" he asked.

"FINALLY!" It practically shrieked (how it managed to do so without vocal chords was a mystery). Do you know how long I've waited for you to ask?

A sea of grass—green, gold, and tall—was shown to Pitch's mind's eye. Horses grazed within the meadow. The sun shone mightily; the sky a brilliant blue, and cool shadows rested within the nearby woodland's shade. It was a pleasing sight; a far cry from the ghostly blues and gray of the arctic crevice. 'Come with me.' The shadow said. 'It'll be a nice change of pace. I promise, there is no moon. I've already checked.'

Pitch took a moment to look back at his book (the written words calling to him), then at the recent addition of snow on the floor. "I suppose you'd bury me in snow if I refused."

This time, the shadow did not attempt to hide its delight.

He opted to close his eyes (wary of the sun's blinding light he was sure to see) before the gentle embrace of the shadow enveloped him.

.

Pitch was transported within the woodlands, and warmth flooded him. He was grateful for the cool shade as he adjusted to the sudden temperature change. It wasn't unbearable, per se, but he had grown use to the cold and dark.

Although within the woodlands, he was close enough to the clearing to hear the horses' as they grazed. Soft hoof-falls against padded earth. Long exhales in a huff of breath. A sharp crunch of leaves to his left, followed by a warm puff of breath…that touched his cheek.

(Definitely _not_ the wind.)

He jerked, opening his eyes and blinking rapidly as they continued to adjust. Finally, the dark shape in front of him came into focus, and Pitch found himself staring into the eyes of a jet-black horse. Wise, intelligent eyes stared back at him. (It had been so long…)

A jolt of panic (not his own) brought Pitch out of his reverie as the beautiful horse broke the stare—ears flicking and head turning towards whatever it heard. Pitch allowed his gaze to follow, and his breath caught. There, a mere four paces away (approximately), was _the_ boy. Older, but not by much.

Relief flooded the boy's face as he turned and saw the horse; his brows knitted together briefly before relaxing. A broad smile formed on the boy's face. (How Pitch wished that smile was for him.) Distantly, Pitch heard another call "Jack!", and the boy stopped in his tracks.

So, the boy's name was Jack.

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.

.

 _Author's Note:_

Have _any song suggestions_ for this story?

Is there anything hinted within the story you'd like expanded on? If I cannot expand it in _Forgotten King,_ I do have plans to make a side-story and/or one-shot collection once finished.


	10. A Man

_AN:_ Chapter 9 part 2 of 2

 _Edit 06/20/2018:_ Fixed clarity issues. No major change.

* * *

 **A** [Good] **Man**

* * *

Jack paused—one foot in front of the other, arms outstretched to keep his balance—as a cool breeze tugged at his clothes, brushed against his cheek, and ruffled his hair. A few more steps then he dropped his arms to rest.

The border upon which Jack stood was no more than one meter tall, but he reveled in his added height. Everything looked so different from above. Onyx, the watch-horse, gave Jack a cursory glance before turning her attention elsewhere. Tired of his balancing act, Jack sat himself down on the sun-warmed stone, taking a brief moment to enjoy the added heat. His hand grazed gently across the rough rock, tracing its various indents. Then, having stayed still long enough, he stood, regained his bearing, and jumped. (Perfect landing, he thought).

... ~ ... ~ ...

Hours had passed since Jack had first led the horses to graze (though the sun's position told a different story), and Jack was growing restless. He had tried entertaining himself by discovering shapes in the clouds…But, he quickly realized, there _were_ _no clouds._

He did not mind watching the horses. Some days, he even preferred it. It provided him with time to think, and gave him plenty of references to use for the wooden horse Ol' Henry was helping Jack carve. (Jack wasn't certain if his mother exactly _approved_ of this project, but she never said, "absolutely not…") Watching the horses didn't preoccupy Jack too much. They were all well behaved (most the time) and knew the boundaries. Sometimes, a colt would try and test the limit, but Onyx usually had it corrected before anyone else. (She was the unofficial supervisor, after all.)

But, this also left the boy with a lot of free time and not much he could do with it. Although there was rarely any trouble, he still had to keep vigilant. (And Ol' Henry made Jack promise to only carve when he was supervised. "And," the cattle-rancher amended later, "the supervisor has to _know_ they're supervising.")

Jack sat on the damp ground, absent-mindedly twisting blades of grass around his fingers, and watched the horses graze. A horse, one of the older colts, was nearing where Jack sat at the edge of the range. Wait a minute…

Jack scrambled to his feet. First, focused on redirecting the colt: "Oh no you don't. Back that way." Then, once certain the colt was no longer trying to cross, Jack expanded his attention outwards. All the horses were there. Except…

"Onyx?"

Jack spun around, mentally counting the horses. True. Only one was missing, but Onyx was nowhere in sight. Had she wandered off? (Why hadn't I noticed!)

A rustling of dried leaves came from the trees behind Jack. He spun, and relief flooded him. Onyx was still within sight; the black mare semi-hidden by thick trunks, but visible nonetheless. Her gaze met Jack's before turning away again towards the trees. Expectantly. Jack followed her gaze, trying to understand. (Was there something there? Was it the reason she had left? Certainly, she didn't want Jack to leave the others unattended—no. Her feet were firmly planted. So, what was it? )

Slight movement beside Onyx caught Jack's attention, and finally he understood. There, blended in with shadows and tree trunks, was a tall man. (Jack had originally assumed the man was a tree, he being so still.) Had this man found Onyx and brought her back? Something about him was familiar…

Jack smiled. (Onyx was skittish around strangers and fiercely protective of her own—especially Jack.) If Onyx was relaxed around this man, that was all the confirmation Jack needed. He wasn't a bad man. Still, Jack best retrieve Onyx before the other horses got any ideas. (She _was_ out of bounds.)

Jack had only taken a few steps when he heard his sister's call. He froze mid-step as he looked towards the direction of her voice. The tip of her head bobbed above the grass—Ol' Henry closely behind her—and Onyx still outside the range. Onyx must have taken pity on the boy for, at that instant, she crossed back over into the grazing area.

The next moment, a tiny hand wrapped around Jack's and pulled insistently. "C'mon, Jack. Lunch time." His sister repeated.

Jack chuckled, allowing his sister to pull him a couple steps. "Alright. Alright. I'm coming," he said. "Just give me a minute. I want to tha-" Jack looked over to where the man had been standing, but he was gone.

"Hey, Ol' Henry, is someone with you?" Jack asked.

"Ja-ack." His sister pouted, her pulls intensifying.

Ol' Henry chuckled. "Go on, boy. I can handle this myself. Besides," he nodded towards the impatient four-year-old, "It's rude leave the Misses waiting."

True, Jack thought. (He never could deny his precious sister for long.) The traders would be in town for a while longer. If he looked, he was bound to run into the man again. He could thank him then.

With this thought in mind, Jack gave full attention to his sister. "Race you!" And, like that, they were off—Jack laughing all the way.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Ms. Overland was alerted of her children's approach with howling laughter and a victorious "Ha!" She watched the two interact from within the entryway—youngest celebrating victory over oldest, who made no denial—and shared a knowing smile with Jack (who winked in return).

She shouldn't have worried...

"Alright you two go wash up, now." She said. "Lunch'll be ready when you're done."

After all, Jack was growing into a fine, young man.

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.

.

~ . ~ . ~

 **Response to Review:**

~ . ~ . ~

 **XinterestingX:** Yes, it is about time they meet, but I hope you can wait just a bit longer. (Why does Pitch have to be so stubborn!) Thank you so, so much for the review! I will do my best to answer your question.

 **To anyone else:** Thank you for reading. I hope you are still enjoying this story. Please, let me know if there is anything you want expanded or if you have song suggestions. :)


	11. Hope and Truth

_._

.

* * *

 _Baseless Hope  
_ **It Can't Be True...**

* * *

The change was gradual and painstakingly slow, but after that initial outing—where its King had finally learned Jack's name—the shadow couldn't be any happier. (An automatic fix was never an option. Not after years of hurt and mistrust, but they were finally making progress. For the first time in ages, the shadow dared to indulge its hope. The healing process, fragile though it may be, had begun.)

Pitch still stayed within that prison, buried beneath thousands of feet of ice, but it was no longer as great a chore to get him to leave. They would visit places sporadically, at first. A dampened cave hidden within the Himalayan Mountains overlooking a human village [1]; a secluded forest where Pitch can simply calm himself on nights with no moon and beautiful stars [2]. A small (but growing) town that had become achingly familiar...

Returns to that dreaded wasteland its king had considered sanctuary became less and less frequent. Soon after, search for a new location (while not explicitly stated) was underway. The shadow already knew where the search would end.

He'll make the connection soon enough, it thought. Technically, he already _has_.

.

Stubborn-Head.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

It wouldn't be long now. _He_ wouldn't be long. Any minute, now, the boy would come striding in—already a shoe removed, soon to be thrown where Pitch stood (not that Jack meant anything by it. He simply wouldn't see.)—and the illusion would break.

Pitch would leave at that.

And, yet, even with the inevitable mere moments away—hope (hope the Nightmare King had thought he had eternally caged) stubbornly remained. Defiant, and oh-so _optimistic._ (It was a wonder that over-grown rabbit had not come looking for a fight.)

No, thank you. He much rather preferred harsh reality over willful ignorance.

... ~ ... ~ ... ~ ...

Seconds were ticking slower than anticipated. He could still hear the rambunctious laughter from the townsfolk as the travelers told their tales; the fires blazing brightly, once again fed. Shadows danced along to the intoxicating flames.

Contrariwise to popular belief, Pitch had nothing against a little fun. He just wanted this night to end. To finally rid himself of useless dreams: no child who did not fear would _ever see him._

But, he wasn't about to put himself in a crowd—where an ignorant youth could run _through_ him to prove that point.

.

And so here he was: in the second best place to await the child this late at night. Jack had to return sometime. When he did, Pitch would be waiting, and all this would be over. A fleeting dream against centuries of nightmares. Pitch would cherish it, but, like all dreams, the details would dull and then fade.

All it took was time.

Might as well ingrain what details he could while still able.

.

He no longer knew how long he had been standing there—amidst a child's bedroom, awaiting said child's return. His plan had started out simple enough. Go to the village, seek out the child who plagued his thoughts, and finally purge the irrational hope inside him when the child did _not_ see.

It was simple enough.

And, yet...

He had found a paper. A drawing, nothing too fancy. Done by a child. A black horse amongst trees. But, within the background, if he just focused...

It could have been anything; the charcoal having been smudged by fingertips. Just another tree or even a mistake. A mark that wasn't meant to be. But the hope within him stirred to life at the sight. It was _possible_.

So preoccupied with his thoughts, Pitch did not notice when the laughter drifting from the town's center grew faint. Nor did he notice when a small, child-like figure broke from the group, headed in his direction. What he did notice: the shadow's sudden return as it encircled him, and soft, padded footsteps behind the door.

He chose _not_ to notice how his grip tightened on the rough drawing of, what he assumed to be, himself amongst the trees with a horse and shadow for company. It's now or never, he thought, turning to face whatever came next. In those few milliseconds, despite the Boogeyman's wishes, Hope reared its ugly head.

Light spilled from the entryway as the door swung open. Bushy hair. Dark, brown eyes. A swift intake of breath; a blur of motion. He did not have time to prepare himself as the boy came barreling through. Pitch braced for [lack of] impact.

Intangible. Air moving around him. Arms going throu- Pressure, warmth. **_Solid_**. _NOT_ passing through. And as he looked down, the biggest grin.

It wouldn't be until much later, when the boy had fallen asleep and was no longer clinging to his _tangible_ form, that Pitch's mind finally recovered enough from its shock to register the boy's words.

"I finally caught you," he had said. "Thank you for returning my horse."

...Pitch must have misheard that last sentence. (Had he ever taken a horse?) But, as he looked around (not yet willing to leave), it all began to make sense.

There, on the bedside table, where Pitch had found the drawing, rested a small, wooden knight that had been taken from a chess-set and gifted to another.

So, the shadow had planned this escapade all along...

(The boy's warmth—Jack's warmth—lingered.)

Audacious-Shadow, Pitch thought.

.

(He did not mind when Jack drew closer, pleasant dreams undisturbed.)

* * *

 _Constructive_ Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.

[1] Yes, "human village" is necessary as I am making a distant reference to another movie. (Anyone have a guess?)

[2] Inspired by the "Devil's Tramping Ground" located in Bear Creek, North Carolina. (I do not want to look into it any further...*shivers*)

.

 _Author's Note:  
_

Well, lovelies, it's been a long time coming. _Forgotten King_ has come to a close (but that doesn't mean this AU has). Any continuation will most likely be a one-shot or sequel. (Feel free to still ask questions.) The next chapter will consist of a sound-track list and answer to footnote 1 (mystery movie reference), and I will mark it as complete by the end of this week.

Thank you all who have read, reviewed and enjoyed. _Special thanks_ goes to **Juki** for _enthusiasm_ (and _convincing me to write_ ), and to **Bililun** for _constructive criticism_ (and little nudges).


	12. Songs, Fun facts, and Mystery Revealed

_WARNING:_ **Act II** 's songs, while they _do_ go, **could be** interpreted as **character themes** and **_MAY_** _Hint_ to SPOILERS for any future continuation.

* * *

 **... ~ ... ~ ... ~ ...**

 **SOUNDTRACK LIST**

 **... ~ ... ~ ... ~ ...**

* * *

 _Act I:_

 _... ~ ... ~_

~ _City of the Dead_ by Eurielle

~ _Guilty_ by the Ramus

~ _How It Ends_ by Beth Crowley

~ _In the Shadows_ by The Rasmus (Congratulations, Juki for using the exact same words! - I already had this song picked out, though.)

.

 _Interlude:_

~ _King_ by Lauren Aquilina

.

 _Act II:_

 _... ~ ... ~_

~ _Darkness_ by Blackmore's Night

~ _You are the Moon_ by The Hush Sound*

~ _Battle Cry_ by Beth Crowley

* * *

 **... ~ ... ~ ... ~ ...  
** _ **Fun Facts and Mystery Movie:  
**_ **... ~ ... ~ ... ~ ...**

1\. Except for _King,_ I didn't know any of these songs before writing _Forgotten King._

 _2\. *_ _You are the Moon_ is the only "official" song I listened to while writing. It can also be taken as the theme.

3\. I wrote the _Prologue_ mainly "binge-listening" to _Lullaby for a Princess._ (Sorry, not part of the MLP fandom. I just have "second-han[d fan]dom.")

4\. _Forgotten King_ was originally going to be a one-shot. As such, I had no outline for _Forgotten King._ I was making it up as I went.  
...Which brings me to this: Yes, I still have ideas for this AU. However, I want to try and prepare for the sequels/one-shots before I open that can of worms.

 _I will **TRY** my best to inform you of any continuation._

.

.

Lastly, the mystery movie reveal: _Monsters, Inc._

~ For any "movie person" who tries to keep everything in the same "movie family" (Pixar/Disney, Dreamworks, etc.): first of all I never said it was in the same family. Secondly, I don't keep track of that...like, at all. So, probably best not to expect that from me (IF I do "Mystery Movie Reference" again).


End file.
